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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26424742">snow angel</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinkabelladk/pseuds/cruellae'>cruellae (tinkabelladk)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Persona 5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>M/M, p5 royal spoilers, tw: suicide attempt</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 03:02:27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,235</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26424742</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinkabelladk/pseuds/cruellae</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>I’m going to save you, Akira. </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>now with gorgeous art by mango @bey0ndplusultra: (<a href="https://twitter.com/bey0ndplusultra/status/1313910494911107072">find it here</a>)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Akechi Goro/Amamiya Ren, Akechi Goro/Kurusu Akira, Akechi Goro/Persona 5 Protagonist</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>36</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>355</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>snow angel</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I want to thank shanti (<a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/shantealeaves/pseuds/shantealeaves">shantealeaves</a>) and aki (<a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/aminami/pseuds/aminami">aminami</a>) for their insightful and incredibly helpful input on this story. Please read some of their stories because they are excellent!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It’s bitterly </p>
<p> </p>
<p>          cold in the Palace’s garden. </p>
<p>Ice clings to the vines that curl their way playfully around wooden trellises, jutting downward like glistening stalactites. Below Goro’s feet, verdant blades of grass poke out from beneath a white blanket of snow. All around him, snowflakes fall so heavy and fast they become a curtain, cutting off the rest of the world. </p>
<p>The pale softness is stifling, a shroud of silence. Goro walks slowly through the snowdrifts, the pant cuffs of his Metaverse outfit caked with white and frozen stiff. </p>
<p>He is looking for </p>
<p> </p>
<p>          Akira, but that’s easy enough because Akira is almost always at LeBlanc. Still, Goro is agitated and unsettled as he gets off the train in Yongen-Jaya, pushing his way through throngs of people content to mill around as though they have no cares in the world. They’re celebrating a Happy New Year, but there’s more to it than that. </p>
<p>Something is wrong. Goro knew it the moment the police officer opened his cell door—saw it in the condescending smile, the gentle pat on his shoulder as he walked out a free man. All the officers on duty had cheerfully wished him the best as he left, like he was a colleague off to take a new job, rather than a suspect who had just confessed to a dozen murders. </p>
<p>Only two things smell this rotten: lies and death. He’s determined to figure out which it is. </p>
<p>When he reaches LeBlanc, he hesitates for a moment before opening the door. He doesn’t know what to make of Akira now, the boy who held out his hand in that dark stinking engine room and said “<em>Join me</em>,” when he should have pointed a gun at Goro’s head.</p>
<p>But it’s Akira that Goro needs now. If anyone else can perceive the flaws in their current reality, it will be him. So Goro pushes open the door and walks inside, bringing with him a gust of cold air. </p>
<p>Inside it’s warm and cozy as always, smelling of coffee and curry and domestic comforts that Goro has never had and never wanted. Home and hearth are weak points that can be exploited, and Goro has spent a lot of time systematically murdering any traces of weakness in himself. </p>
<p>In the middle booth, the woman that turns to him is hauntingly, shockingly familiar, but she greets him with no trace of recognition. </p>
<p>Wakaba Isshiki. The first person he killed. Age fifteen, ray gun in his trembling hand, his victim’s yellow eyes boring into his own. </p>
<p>And there, sitting at the bar with a cup of coffee, is the last person he killed. That time, his hands didn’t shake at all. </p>
<p>How ironic. Goro’s lip curls into a snarl and he barely bothers to greet the others before crossing the room and leaning in close to whisper in Akira’s ear. </p>
<p>“You know, </p>
<p> </p>
<p>          don’t you?” Yoshizawa asks. “You’ve seen things like that before?” </p>
<p>Goro looks up at the sleek, pale structure phasing half-in and half-out of reality. It exudes a definite sinister aura, the tower of a wicked wizard, a cruel overlord. </p>
<p>“It’s a Palace,” Akira says. “But it’s somehow in the real world too.” </p>
<p>“Let’s not waste time,” Goro says. “If you’ve already been inside, you know the keywords. So let’s go.” </p>
<p>“I don’t know what you mean.” Yoshizawa seems taken aback by Goro’s brusque tone. </p>
<p>“The keywords would be on your phone, Kasumi,” Akira says gently. </p>
<p>Yoshizawa fumbles with her phone, pulling up the app. “How do I find them? </p>
<p>“Give that to me.” Goro takes her phone and opens the Nav’s search history. </p>
<p>There is only one entry: </p>
<p>
  <em> ---, Research Hospital, Odaiba  </em>
</p>
<p>“The Palace ruler’s name is blocked,” Akira says, leaning over Goro’s shoulder to see the little screen. The sudden nearness makes Goro feel warm, even in the bitter January cold. </p>
<p>“Whoever it is has the power to change reality,” Goro says. “It’s no surprise they would be able to hide their identity.” </p>
<p>“Must be,” Akira murmurs thoughtfully. </p>
<p>“Are you ready to begin?” </p>
<p>Akira nods, and Goro presses the button that will suck them into the Metaverse without waiting for Yoshizawa’s response.</p>
<p>They arrive in a wide room with shimmering white walls, dizzyingly blank and bright. An elevator takes them to a lobby, where a shadow waits behind a reception desk, clipboard in hand. </p>
<p>“Welcome back, Kurusu-kun,” it calls cheerfully, as the three of them walk by. </p>
<p>“We’ve been here before,” Yoshizawa explains. She launches into a long story about stumbling into the Metaverse, awakening to a Persona, and being saved by Akira. </p>
<p>On Goro’s other side, Akira says nothing, a muscle in his jaw flexing as he stares straight ahead. </p>
<p>The hallways are as sterile as the inside of an operating room, illuminated by the same kind of blinding fluorescent lights. It gives Goro a headache. Painting the walls with shadows’ blood, which comes in all colors of the rainbow, only offers a little relief. </p>
<p>Finally they open a door that leads them to a wide auditorium. A man is standing in the center, dressed all in white. He looks young and naive, his expression open and welcoming, tinged with a hint of concern for their wellbeing. Goro isn’t fooled. He’s seen enough doctors and therapists to know better. From Yoshizawa’s startled exclamation and Akira’s intake of breath, Goro assumes they both recognize him. </p>
<p>The man steps into the center of the auditorium, separated from them by rows of seats and a railing. He smiles kindly, benevolently. </p>
<p>“I’m surprised you came here, Kurusu-kun,” he says. “I didn’t think you would want to return.”</p>
<p>Akira says nothing. </p>
<p>“Are you this Palace’s ruler?” Goro demands. </p>
<p>The man laughs easily, like they’re old friends. “I’m not sure what you mean by Palace, but I wouldn’t claim to be the ruler of anything.” He glances at Akira. “I do wish you’d reconsider the path you’re on. It’s not good for you to be here.” </p>
<p>“Dr. Maruki,” Yoshizawa says. “I don’t understand what’s happening.” </p>
<p>“I didn’t want to have to show you this,” Maruki says regretfully. “But I think it’s important you know what really happened to you, Yoshizawa. Kurusu only wants what’s best for everyone, after all.” </p>
<p>He snaps his fingers and a large screen descends from the wall. It clicks on and the screen fills with </p>
<p> </p>
<p>          static. Akira throws popcorn at the little TV in his room, laughing ruefully. </p>
<p>“This always happens when I have someone over,” he says. </p>
<p>“You should invest in a better TV.” </p>
<p>“I should.” Akira leans to one side, resting his head against Goro’s shoulder. </p>
<p>The press of his body makes Goro’s breath catch in his throat. He bites the inside of his cheek, admonishing himself for his foolishness. </p>
<p>“Stay anyway?” Akira asks. His tone makes it almost impossible to refuse, which is just one more reason why Goro should. </p>
<p>“You promised me Star Wars,” Goro says dryly. Like he hasn’t seen the movies a hundred times before. </p>
<p>“I’ll get it fixed tomorrow.” </p>
<p>“We’re going back into the Casino tomorrow.” </p>
<p>“I know.” Akira sits up, fixes Goro with a plaintive look. “Stay anyway?” </p>
<p>Goro reaches out, touches Akira’s cheek. Akira’s eyes flutter closed, and he presses his face into the palm of Goro’s hand. </p>
<p>Ever since Goro realized he could touch Akira, that Akira would in fact invite his touch, it’s been difficult not to constantly put his hands on him. Resisting Akira’s advances is a battle of attrition that Goro has been slowly losing. </p>
<p>“The cruelest thing I could do would be to give you what you want,” Goro warns. </p>
<p>“It’s a good thing you’re cruel, then,” Akira says, softly. </p>
<p>“Why would you think that?” Goro widens his eyes dramatically, pulling back as though gravely wounded by the accusation. </p>
<p>“Because it’s true,” Akira says. His gray eyes linger on Goro’s face like a caress. “Isn’t it?” </p>
<p>Akira is always like this, always probing, always pushing. Trying to expose Goro’s true self, while Goro parries and dodges and skitters away like a shadow before the light. </p>
<p>He can’t help it. Akira is so <em> good, </em>the kind of person who helps everyone around him, the pillar of strength all his friends lean on. </p>
<p>Goro wants to watch the world burn. Akira just wants to make everyone happy. </p>
<p>“Do you want it to be true?” Goro asks. Slipping nimbly away from anything that might render him vulnerable. </p>
<p>Akira shrugs. “Yeah, kinda. If I’m being honest, your whole Detective Prince act is a little boring.” </p>
<p>Before Goro can protest—though really, he does agree—Akira has gently gripped his chin and turned his face so he’s forced to look the other boy in the eye. </p>
<p>“But there’s more to you than just that. You fascinate me. There’s something about you—I can’t look away.” </p>
<p>
  <em> You want to know what it is? You’ll see it when I put my gun to your head in that dark interrogation room. Then you’ll know who I am, but it will be too late.  </em>
</p>
<p>“I should go,” Goro says, wrenching himself away from that hypnotic gaze. He gets to his feet quickly, gracelessly. </p>
<p>“Don’t leave.” Akira steps into his path, eyes flashing. He sounds so like Joker that for a moment it feels like Arsene is lingering above him like a ghost. </p>
<p>Goro narrows his eyes. Akira may be trying to get into his heart, but all he’s really accomplished is getting under Goro’s skin, uncomfortable slivers of emotion that jab and needle at Goro whenever they’re together. </p>
<p>“You want me to be cruel?” Goro is so furious he’s trembling with it, angry enough that for the first time in a very long time, he makes a move without planning it beforehand. He slides his hand into Akira’s messy curls and makes a fist, tugging hard enough to hurt, pulling Akira closer so he can press their mouths together. </p>
<p>When he throws Akira on the bed, shoving him roughly enough to make him stumble and fall backwards onto the sheets, Akira doesn’t protest. He moves pliantly and willingly, a glint in his eyes like he’s eager to take anything Goro wants to give him. </p>
<p>“This is going to hurt you more than it hurts me,” Akira says, his gaze heavy lidded with desire. “You think you’re in control, but you’re not.” </p>
<p>Goro snarls. He’s beyond words, tangled in lust and anger and heady regret. He doesn't know if he wants Akira to come undone beneath him in pleasure or in suffering. Maybe one, then the other. </p>
<p>He pins Akira’s arms above his head on the pillow, then leans in and kisses him until their circumstances fade away and all that’s left is Akira’s smile, a bright point of light in a life of sordid darkness. An angel, come to tempt the devil away from his path. </p>
<p>When Goro leaves LeBlanc that night, it’s well past dark. The moon is bright and high in the November sky, and it’s so shockingly cold</p>
<p> </p>
<p>          in this garden of Eden. Everywhere he turns is shrouded in white, the blizzard swirling around him in flurries and great gusts of frigid air threatening to knock him backwards. </p>
<p>Through the snow blindness creeping in, he sees a distinctive silhouette. <em> Joker. </em>He’d recognize the slant of those shoulders, the length of that dauntless stride, anywhere. </p>
<p>Joker moves away from him and Goro follows, forcing his way through piles of snow that come almost to his knees. Joker walks atop the drifts, leaving no footprints behind. </p>
<p>In the distance, Goro hears familiar voices, the din of the Phantom Thieves, all talking and shouting over one and other. They’re somewhere </p>
<p> </p>
<p>          behind him, rushing forward to join the battle against Sumire’s twisted Persona. Goro breathes out a heavy sigh of relief. Even as they worked together more seamlessly than they ever had before, Joker and Goro were no match for Cendrillon, driven berserk as she was. </p>
<p>He’d thought it might be the end for them, lying together on the pristine floor of the Palace while Cendrillon advanced on them with wicked hands raised. </p>
<p>“I’m sorry,” Joker had said to him, his voice raspy and pained. “I thought I could save everyone. I thought I could…”</p>
<p>But Goro never got the chance to ask what he meant. </p>
<p>Now the Phantom Thieves have crowded around Joker, casting healing spells and offering curatives. Murmuring soft apologies of their own, for having been caught in the web of lies this Palace’s ruler has created. </p>
<p>“It’s okay,” Akira murmurs, reaching out to hold Ann’s hand, to touch Ryuji’s shoulder, to acknowledge them all in turn. </p>
<p>The selfless leader, who spent a week trying to wake each of them from their slumber, only for his gentle efforts to fail hopelessly. Somehow talking with Akira only entrenched each of them further into their distortions. </p>
<p>Goro went to them all, one by one. Told them the raw, painful truth. They all resisted, tangled in their pleasant lies. But now they’re here, and that means he must have been able to get through to them. </p>
<p>He doesn’t understand why he was able to shake them free of the false reality, while Akira’s efforts only obscured the truth. It shouldn’t work that way—Akira’s presence should bring clarity, not this strange fog, lingering in Goro’s mind and clouding his thoughts.</p>
<p>It would be so easy to just</p>
<p> </p>
<p>          <em> forget everything,” Akira says. He’s sitting with Sumire on the roof of the school, holding her hand in his. “Are you sure that’s what you want? To forget?”  </em></p>
<p>
  <em> “It hurts so much,” Sumire whispers.  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “I’m so sorry. I wish I could help you. All I want is for you to be happy.”  </em>
</p>
<p>The air around them shimmers for a fleeting second, so briefly it’s hard to tell if it’s merely a trick of the light, of the old cathode ray tube TV. </p>
<p>The Phantom Thieves and Goro watch the exchange intently, crowded around a little TV screen in a dusty, tucked away corner of the Palace. </p>
<p>The scene shifts to show Maruki again, dressed in his strange white attire, that same condescending smile on his face. </p>
<p>“You see, Kurusu wants to save her,” Maruki says. “Kurusu wants to save everyone. Tell them, won’t you, Kurusu?”  </p>
<p>“I just want to make you all happy,” Akira says, holding up his hands defensively like he’s on trial. “I’ll do </p>
<p> </p>
<p>          anything,” cognitive Goro says, the gun in his hand pointed directly at the real Goro’s head. “But look at yourself. You’re the real puppet. You wanted to be acknowledged, didn’t you? To be loved?” </p>
<p>Goro clenches his hands into fists, staring into his own face, twisted into an expression he doesn’t recognize. </p>
<p>“You’ve been nothing but a puppet from the very beginning.” </p>
<p>Behind the cognition, a group of powerful shadows spawn, black ooze sprouting from the ground and coalescing into monstrous shapes. They approach slowly but inevitably, powerful enough to defeat the Phantom Thieves, weakened as they are. </p>
<p>“You know what?” The cognition grins gleefully. “I’ll let someone volunteer to take his place. Who knows, you might delay his death.” </p>
<p>Joker steps forward. Of course he does. Akira and his ridiculous savior complex, his need to protect everyone he knows from sharp edges and sadness. </p>
<p>But there are so many sharp edges in this broken glass world, and he is constantly bleeding against them. In the arcana Goro keeps in his head, the deck of tarot cards that correspond to every victim he’s killed, Akira is the Fool, always the Fool. </p>
<p>“Ah, we have a volunteer,” the cognition says, smirking. “Shoot him, and I’ll let you go free.” </p>
<p>Behind the cognition, the shadows advance, dark and sinister and snarling. Hungry for the blood of the Phantom Thieves who have swaggered across their master’s ship, breaking the rules and cheating at the game. </p>
<p>Now Goro regrets fighting the Thieves, with a rush of bitterness that tears through him like a jagged bolt of lightning. </p>
<p>“Hah,” he murmurs, eyes wildly scanning the surroundings for anything that might be an advantage. Any way out in this dismal situation. “I was such an idiot.” </p>
<p>
  <em> There.  </em>
</p>
<p>The red button encased in gleaming glass, just behind Joker. Goro raises his gun, carefully aims. It’s a hard shot to make, even in the Metaverse where his confidence and bravado guide his bullets. </p>
<p>The Phantom Thieves gasp, tense as one. All except Joker, who stands perfectly still and meets Goro’s eyes. Trusting him even here, even now that his true nature has been revealed. </p>
<p>“Yes,” the cognition hisses. “That’s the you our captain wishes to see.” </p>
<p>Goro chuckles through clenched teeth. “Don’t misunderstand. You’re the one who’s going to disappear.” </p>
<p>He pulls the trigger. The shot hits true, and the bulkhead door begins to rise. His last glimpse is of Joker’s frantic face as he runs towards the rapidly closing door, but he doesn’t close the distance in time. </p>
<p>Goro hears the desperate thump of Joker’s fists against the steel partition, his voice calling Goro’s name. But Goro can’t spare the time to feel anything at all. </p>
<p>He whirls around to face the cognition, squeezes the trigger just like he’s done a hundred times before, slaying shadows of all kinds, though never has one of them worn his face. Two gunshots sound and a bullet tears a hole through the cognition’s chest. It stumbles, wavers. It looks so stupidly surprised. </p>
<p>Goro looks down to see a matching wound in his own chest, blossoming red where the cognition’s injury is spilling black smoke. Unlike the cognition, Goro is not surprised. Not when he stumbles. Not when he falters. Not when he </p>
<p> </p>
<p>          falls into the snow, feet slipping on hidden planes of ice. He’s cold and lost, vision blurred by the endless white landscape before him. Flurries of snow dance within a gust of frigid wind, blowing his hair away from his face and unfurling his cape so that it flaps wildly in the breeze. </p>
<p>He hugs his arms close to his body, shivering. For a moment, he thinks he’s never going to make it out of the storm. But then he sees it, up ahead. A winged silhouette like an angel, brilliant and beautiful, filling the garden with its glory. He’s drawn to it, desperately, thoughtlessly. He craves its warmth, lusts for its luminescence on his skin. The light is </p>
<p> </p>
<p>          harsh and pale, washing out the color in Akira’s skin and making the dark circles beneath his eyes stark as bruises. Fluorescent light doesn't flatter anyone, but Akira has been struggling all night, has been struggling since they started this wretched Palace. It’s only gotten worse the deeper they’ve ventured. </p>
<p>He’s still more capable in a fight than any of them except Goro, strong enough that none but Goro notice the difference. The half-second of lag holding back his usual reflexes, the faltering of his characteristic grace. He walks as though through a snowdrift, like each step is met with resistance. He shivers, even as the air in the laboratory is perfectly climate controlled. </p>
<p>Goro wants to ask if Akira is okay. But he’s not sure he wants to know the answer. </p>
<p>They’re standing  around another one of those old TVs, the small, curved screen playing a few seconds of static before the scene comes into focus. </p>
<p>It’s Maruki, talking to a child who is portrayed only in silhouette, skinny and slouching, with messy dark hair. They’re in a tidy office, pleasant but impersonal with white walls and bright light. A room that could easily be behind any door in this Palace. </p>
<p>
  <em> “I don’t want them to fight,” the child says. His voice is barely more than a whisper. “I want my parents to be happy. I want everyone to be happy.”  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “I’ll tell you a secret,” Maruki says, leaning towards the child. “Everything we experience is cognition. Our thoughts can change the reality around us. If you change what you think, you can change the world.”  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> The child sits up, straining towards Maruki like a plant towards the sun. “I could make them happy?”  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “I believe you could make anything you want happen,” Maruki says.  “When you’re ready to go home, you can give it a try. So let’s work hard at your therapy, and we’ll get there soon.”  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “I’m not ready to go home.” The child draws his knees to his chest, tucking his chin against them. “I don’t like it there.”  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “Why not?”  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “It feels like  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>          a prison,” Goro says, putting a hand on the cold metal bars that separate him from Lavenza and Igor. “It wasn’t like this before.” </p>
<p>“This is the Velvet Room as Akira knows it,” Lavenza says, glancing at the bars with a solemn look on her lovely face.</p>
<p>Goro raises an eyebrow. “Akira’s subconscious put him in prison?” </p>
<p>“We have brought you here to give you a warning,” Lavenza tells him. </p>
<p>“The Trickster is playing a dangerous game,” Igor adds, folding his long skinny fingers beneath his chin. The eerie resonance is gone from his voice—now he simply sounds like an old man. </p>
<p>“What do you mean?” Goro asks, even though he knows it’s useless. He doesn’t think Igor has ever given him a straight answer in the two years he’s been visiting the Velvet Room—though it usually doesn’t look like this. </p>
<p>“It was your role to remake the world, and his role to save it.” Lavenza approaches, book in hand. </p>
<p>“A truly unjust game,” Igor adds, unnecessarily. </p>
<p>“And yet the Trickster prevailed,” Lavenza says. “He saved the world once, and he seeks to do it again, but his desires have become distorted. You must bring him back to himself.” </p>
<p>“Your justice will guide you.” Igor studies Goro impassively. “But I will grant you a boon as well.” </p>
<p>“What…” Blue light envelops Goro, a shimmering wall that obscures his vision. His chest fills with warmth and want, just as it does in Akira’s presence. </p>
<p>
  <em> He is a part of you now. As am I.  </em>
</p>
<p>A deep, resonant voice, rumbling through Goro’s chest. Through the haze of blue light he sees wings, dark membranes stretched over a three-tiered frame. Pale horns curling forward to frame a demon lord’s face. </p>
<p>“Satanael,” Goro whispers. </p>
<p>
  <em> He can no longer summon me. He has lost himself. Only you can bring him back.  </em>
</p>
<p>This awakening is not like Robin Hood, a burst of indignant anger, childish in its righteousness. It’s not like Loki, clawing his way out of Goro’s chest with acid tipped claws. Satanael settles gently, delicately, in his heart. </p>
<p>“May he serve you well,” Igor says. “Take care, Trickster. The end is</p>
<p> </p>
<p>          very close now,” Oracle warns, as they approach a large white door. They are all bloodied after the long trek through the Palace, worn down and weary. None more so than Akira, who has been fighting like he wants to lose, faltering where he usually stands strong. </p>
<p>“Do you think we should come back tomorrow?” Goro murmurs to Akira. “Everyone’s exhausted.” </p>
<p>Akira looks at him, gray eyes as dull as a cloudy sky. “I shouldn’t be here,” he whispers. “I don’t know what I’m doing here.” </p>
<p>“We should call it here,” Goro says to the rest of the group. “Everyone’s exhausted. We need to recover our strength.” </p>
<p>“You wanna quit early?” Oracle says, raising an eyebrow. “Just a few hours ago you were yelling at us for lagging behind.” </p>
<p>“Almost everyone is injured,” Goro says. “All of you look like you’re about to fall over.” </p>
<p>They all turn to him with puzzled glances. </p>
<p>“Everyone’s fine,” Joker says, his voice low and commanding. “I would never let anyone get hurt.” </p>
<p>Distortion ripples through the room, shimmering like heated air, and for a second Goro sees what the rest of them see. Metaverse outfits pressed and pristine, the Thieves’s bodies unmarred by the injuries and blood Goro knows are there. All of them fresh and eager as they are at the start of an infiltration. </p>
<p>The illusion is gone within a few seconds, but clearly the rest of them are still caught in it. </p>
<p>“You’re all fools,” Goro spits. “Fine. You want to keep going, let’s keep going.” </p>
<p>“What’s with him?” Ryuji mutters under his breath, as they file out of the safe room. </p>
<p>“Up next is a garden,” Oracle says. “Should be pretty. Once we get through that, we’ll be right at the Treasure.” </p>
<p>They all hurry forward, delighted with their false reality. As usual, Goro is </p>
<p> </p>
<p>          completely alone. The Thieves have all been separated in the blizzard that rages through the once green and glorious garden. The storm began the moment they stepped into the conservatory, and has become fiercer the closer Goro draws to the Treasure. The final obstacle, holding him back. </p>
<p>Occasionally, he hears one of the Phantom Thieves, calling through the curtain of snowflakes. But he ignores them. Satanael waits patiently in his chest, the fragment of Akira like a glowing beacon within himself. It keeps him warm, even as he shivers violently in the cold. His hair is covered in a crown of snowflakes, icicles clinging to the ends of his long locks, and his breath comes in soft puffs of pale white. </p>
<p>Finally, and mostly by accident, he stumbles across the stairway. Translucent and shimmering, it spirals up and up through the falling snow to the top of a massive tree. Icicles drip from each step, and a light dusting of snow collects at the edges. </p>
<p>Goro takes a deep breath and begins to climb the stairs </p>
<p> </p>
<p>          to LeBlanc’s dusty attic, where Akira waits for him, sitting on the bed with his knees drawn to his chest. He looks so like the child in the video that Goro’s heart aches for him. </p>
<p>Goro sits beside him and puts a hand on the small of his back. Slowly Akira uncurls himself, until his feet reach the floor and he can turn to Goro expectantly. </p>
<p>“You wished me back to life,” Goro says. </p>
<p>Akira’s eyes are full of passion, fever bright. “I wished for all of it. Everything, except you.”</p>
<p>“Why not me?” The question has been eating at Goro in quiet moments. “Every person in the world has had their wishes granted, except for me.”  </p>
<p>“I…” Akira turns his face away. “It’s selfish. I didn’t save you because I didn’t want to. I know that you’re unhappy, Akechi, but...I love you just as you are. I don’t want to change you, even if it means letting you suffer.” </p>
<p>Goro stares at him. It’s perhaps the most meaningful thing anyone could have ever said to him. </p>
<p>“And when it...when it happens,” Akira whispers. “I don’t want to be the only person in the world who knows what sorrow is.” </p>
<p>“It’s the same hospital, isn’t it?” Goro asks. “The place they put you when you were a child?” </p>
<p>Akira’s downcast expression reveals the truth even before he speaks. “I was twelve. I tried to take a whole bottle of aspirin.”</p>
<p>Goro <em> hates </em>it, hates the thought of young Akira in so much pain he couldn’t see any other way out. </p>
<p>“I wish we had met earlier,” Akira says. “We could have saved each other.” </p>
<p>Goro presses his hand to the side of Akira’s face and kisses him gently, softly. “I’m going to save you,” he murmurs against Akira’s lips. “I promise.” </p>
<p>Akira leans in, kisses him back for a long, sweet moment. And then Goro slides the little red and black card into his hand and pulls away. </p>
<p>Akira studies the card ruefully, then glances at Goro. “Okay,” he says, softly. “Let’s do this.” </p>
<p>There’s no god to pit them against each other, but here they are facing off all the same. </p>
<p>“I haven’t told the others,” Goro promises. “It’s just </p>
<p> </p>
<p>          you and me. Like it was always meant to be.” Shadow Akira’s voice has a strange, mellifluous resonance that makes the marrow of Goro’s bones vibrate in kind. </p>
<p>Akira’s Shadow is breathtaking, beautiful beyond words, waiting atop the long spiraling staircase of glass beneath an apple tree. His wings are massive, each spanning at least six feet when fully unfurled, covered with iridescent white feathers. He glows with a holy radiance so brilliant it creates a warm sanctuary from the blizzard all around them. </p>
<p>His dark curly hair is long and lustrous, tied in a loose ponytail and adorned with white gemstones that look like snowflakes. His armor is polished silver, scales and plates that cling to his body like a second skin, and instead of a dagger he holds a long sword that glows with righteousness. </p>
<p>“I don’t want to fight you,” Goro says. </p>
<p>“Yet here you are,” the Shadow says, tracking Goro’s movements with the tip of his sword. “You would choose suffering. You would choose sorrow.” </p>
<p>“I would choose the truth,” Goro shouts. “How can you be so blind?” </p>
<p>“In my world, everyone will be happy.” </p>
<p>“You think I give a fuck about “everyone”?” Goro draws his red sword, feels Satanael ready itself like a coiled spring inside his heart. “I only care about you.” </p>
<p>“You’re selfish,” the Shadow says. “And the selfish must perish.” </p>
<p>Goro attacks first, lunging forward with his sword drawn to meet the jarring parry of the Shadow’s own blade. The force of it sends tremors down his arms, but he leaps out of the way of a downward slash and calls upon Satanael to unleash a powerful curse attack. </p>
<p>Curses seem to be the Shadow’s weakness, momentarily dimming his radiance. But he retaliates with the blessed power that hits Goro hard, sending him stumbling and bloody into the snow. </p>
<p>Goro loses track of how long they fight, trading the advantage back and forth until they are both bloodied and weary. The snow beneath them melted away long ago with the sheer heat and force of their battle, and the grass beneath  is littered with white feathers. One of Shadow Akira’s wings is damaged, hanging limply from a broken frame. The other is matted with blood. </p>
<p>They are too evenly matched, and they knew each other too well, for either one to emerge victorious. </p>
<p>And then Shadow Akira raises his head, drawing a silver pistol engraved with intricate filigree, gleaming in his holy light. </p>
<p>“Another few minutes and my reality will have overtaken this world,” he says. “There’s only one person who can stop me.” </p>
<p>He aims the weapon, but not at Goro. The sinister barrel of the gun is pointed </p>
<p> </p>
<p>          at Akira, who sits quietly in a dark interrogation room beneath a police station, awaiting his death. Goro’s finger is on the trigger, and he doesn’t tremble. And he doesn’t cry. And he doesn’t </p>
<p> </p>
<p>          hesitate. He leaps into the path of the bullet, protecting Joker—the <em> real </em>Joker—with his body. The silver bullet pierces his heart, tearing through flesh and muscle to lodge itself deep within his core. </p>
<p>Joker runs to him, catches him as he falls. The shadow stumbles to his knees, hanging his head in sorrow, and Joker holds Goro in his arms. Tears fall on Goro’s face as Joker frantically casts healing spells, but the blessed bullet is lodged too deeply, imbued with too much holy power. </p>
<p>“I’m sorry,” Joker babbles, over and over. “I’m sorry, Goro. I’m sorry.” </p>
<p>Goro reaches up and presses his hand to Joker’s cheek. Blood runs from the corner of his mouth, wet and warm. </p>
<p><em> Did I save you? </em>he wants to ask, but before he can, the world slips away from him. And then. And then. </p>
<p>          And then. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>art by mango @bey0ndplusultra: (<a href="https://twitter.com/bey0ndplusultra/status/1313910494911107072">find it here</a>)</p></blockquote></div></div>
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